


tessellations

by weatheredlaw



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, Imprisonment, Red Lyrium, Rescue Missions, Suicidal Thoughts, Trauma, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-17 15:54:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4672520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Toe to toe, back to back, let's go my love; it's very late</i>
  <br/>
  <i>'Til morning comes, let's tessellate</i>
</p><p>bits and bobs from a dystopian future</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. in the darkness i will meet my creators

**Author's Note:**

> uhhhh so i wrote this thing for my "calamity" drabbles, and i couldn't get the universe out of my head, but i'm not really committed to, like, an entire series with an intense storyline, so you'll have to dip your toes into it with me, one little story at a time. expect multiple ships and character studies, i just decided to start with cassandra/varric (lbr it'll probably be all cassandra/varric)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric and Dorian are captured by the enemy.

Varric lifted his head. He could feel whatever they'd given him working its way through his body. Every nerve was on fire, every limb was tingling, in the process of going numb. Had he been like this before? When had it happened, what had they given him? He coughed, tasted blood, spit red.

Bright red, red that was on fire.

"Oh, no. No, no, _no--_ " He heaved, shifting in his cell with a groan and retching, trying to force the red lyrium from his body. Everything he'd worked so hard for, everything he'd gone through -- and he was going to die with this shit in his body. Where was his gun, what had they done with Bianca, what -- 

"Varric?" 

" _Dorian!_ " A groan from the other side of the room. Varric couldn't see, the light was dim and unsettling, but he could hear the mage shifting on the other side of the room. "Are you--"

"Don't ask. Whatever you do, don't _ask._ " Varric heard Dorian heave and groan. "Are we dead?"

"No." 

"Pity." Varric heard chains shifting. "So this is what it feels like?"

"I wouldn't know."

Dorian sighed. "How long until we _do_ die, you think?"

"Few weeks."

"Do they know where we are?"

Varric swallowed. He tried to remember everything that had happened up until this point. The raid on Alexius, finding the red lyrium stash. Varric had suggested they blow it up, but he'd gotten into a fight with Cassandra when she suggested they use it as leverage. He wished they hadn't, because it was right about then the Venatori stormed the place. Varric had been caught off guard, the Inquisitor had ripped a hole in the sky to help them escape, but Varric knew if some of them didn't take out the men trailing them, they wouldn't make it. 

He'd locked eyes with Dorian, and they knew what they had to do.

"She'll come for us," Dorian said finally. 

"Hmm?"

"Trevelyan. She'll come for us." He heard Dorian chuckle. "And your Seeker, of course." 

Varric sighed. He'd said something cruel. He'd said something he hadn't meant -- but the lyrium made him so angry, it made him another man, another one entirely. 

_You didn't lose him. You have no idea what it feels like._

Stupid.

_Stupid._

"Varric?"

"Yeah."

"They will...come, won't they?"

Varric tried to find Dorian in the darkness, finally making out a gentle profile. He didn't need to see his face, though. He could hear the doubt and fear in his voice so clearly. 

He sighed. "Yeah," he said. "They will."

 

 

 

However many days had gone by, Varric wasn't sure. He knew they would take them, and he knew there was more red lyrium in him each time they did. Dorian had screamed, and Varric had been so sick he couldn't stay awake, had woken with the taste of blood in his mouth so many times he lost track. 

Alexius came, then. He came and he took Dorian away and when they brought him back he hadn't moved for hours. He woke up coughing and Varric tried to make him laugh, but in the end they'd only found silence together. 

He thought he saw Cassandra, once. So clearly, so solid, he could reach out in front of him and touch, could reach for her and draw her in. He missed her, ached for her, needed to see her, and when he opened his eyes and only saw darkness -- 

Dorian couldn't, _wouldn't_ , fault him for the noise he made. 

"She'll come," he said. Varric rolled over and felt bile rise in his throat. "Varric, she _will--_ "

"Are we dead yet, _please--_ "

"You can't. Varric, if _you--_ "

"I don't--"

He shuddered, felt the lyrium crawling through every part of him. 

If they ever came, they'd have to kill him.

He wondered if Cassandra could do it.

 

 

 

"Dorian, your magic--"

"Do you _have_ to ask?" He sounded tired, and Varric understood. 

"They didn't make you--"

"No, nothing like that. Alexius _cares_ too much. It's why he keeps taking me away. Trying to get me to join."

"Join."

"You know where I came from, Varric."

"Right."

"You know my father made me...made me _join._ I left, you see, when they tried to give me the red lyrium. Alexius told me he could... _fix me._ That my father had charged him with doing so." He groaned. "So I left. I suppose this is my fault. He's been looking for me--"

"Don't say that," Varric said quietly. "It's not you."

"It is a bit."

"No. It's this...world. This war. This is what it does."

Dorian laughed, voice raw and probably bleeding.

"That's not good enough."

Varric closed his eyes. "It's gonna have to be."

 

 

 

Someone was banging on the side of his head. Someone was trying to kill him -- someone who hadn't tried already. Dorian called out, but his voice was weak, and Varric could see him collapse in the dim light. The noise kept coming, steadier now, and Varric realized it wasn't in his head or happening to his head.

Someone was trying to get _in._

"It's them!" Dorian scrambled to stand, tried to reach out. 

The door tumbled open, right off its hinges. Light spilled into the room and there, _there_ , she was -- the Seeker. His Seeker. 

Dorian was right.

They'd finally come for them.

Varric hadn't realized how much of his vision had been sacrificed to the lyrium. He could see her, but only just. Red, _red_ along the edges made her hard to find, but she reached for him, came down with strong hands and lifted him out of the darkness.

"Am I dead yet?" Maker, he didn't recognize his own voice anymore. 

She smiled, and he was almost gone, falling over the edge, but he was, then, that it was the last thing he saw before he lost consciousness.

 

 

 

In the days after they got back to Skyhold, Varric wished he'd died in that cell. He was sick, he convulsed, he screamed as they purged the lyrium from his body. He'd never had a nightmare, but he imagined it felt a lot like this -- hallucinations, the seizures that wouldn't stop, the constant feeling of suffocation, like someone was slowly leaving stones on his chest.

He saw her, sometimes, between the visions and the insomnia. She looked down at him, stroked his cheek, and her hands were the first relief he'd felt in weeks. 

"You are alive. You will live, my love."

Varric didn't believe her.

"You must believe me."

Varric wished she would kill him. She could take her hands, grip his throat -- he didn't have the strength to fight back.

She could smother him. She could make the pain go away.

"Please, don't say those things."

He wished it would end. He wished it was over.

 

 

 

And then it was over.

 

 

 

Varric looked in the mirror and saw the hollows of his cheeks for the first time. He looked like a ghost, imagined he felt like one, too. He walked when he could, but it was hard, for a long time. Missions came and went. Cassandra was there and not. She helped him walk, but knew how far she could go without wounding his pride. 

A month passed before Varric felt like himself, before he could be alone with her.

She came to his quarters, stripped out of her clothes, and crawled into bed with him.

"It is good to have you back."

"Did I thank you for that?" Varric murmured, turning to press his lips to the back of her neck. "Because you looked damn good kicking that door down."

"You did not, but you were indisposed."

"Thank you."

"Of course." She turned and wrapped her arms around him, tucking her head under his chin. "You said the most terrible things."

"Cassandra--"

"Did you think I could really kill you?" She pulled back, staring straight at him. "Did you really think I would end your life?"

"I--"

"I love you," she said. "I could...I could _never._ " Her voice caught, she shuddered and sobbed against him. 

"Please, Cassandra, please don't cry--"

"You _begged_ me!" And suddenly she pulled away from him, turned her back to him. Varric stroked his hand over her bare skin. "I know it was not your fault. I know you didn't _mean_ it. But...to hear you _say_ it. You, of all of us--"

"I'm not any stronger."

"You are, though."

"No." Varric gripped her arm, gently pulling her toward him. "Don't say that. Don't put that on me."

"Then what am I supposed to do?"

Varric swallowed. "Just...stay here. Come to bed with me." Cassandra finally turned toward him and he smiled. "I missed you."

She nodded, slipping next to him and pulling the blankets over her shoulders. "And I missed you."


	2. from eden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corypheus had razed everything in Thedas, except for one final place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhhh i guess this is more like, lore and backstory for this au? the idea of corypheus essentially practicing a scorch and burn policy -- which would create hordes of refugees, so expect something like that at some point, too. idk it's not much it's just a thing.

Everywhere they seemed to go was dead.

The war scorched its way across Thedas, leaving an aching, bleeding earth in its path. Cassandra walked through Val Royeaux with the Inquisitor in front, ran her hands over the rubble that had once been something great. The Exalted Plains was always dry and dying, but there had once been green there, for a short moment. All gone, now. 

All of it.

Everywhere they seem to go, they step out into a wasteland.

And then they find the Graves.

 

 

 

" _Oh._ " Evelyn bends down and digs her fingers into grass, lays down and presses her cheek against it. "When was the last time you saw so much _green?_ " She inhaled deeply, and perhaps she meant to hide from them the sob that escaped when she breathed out, but if she was aware of it, she didn't let on. Cassandra stretched out her arm, watched sun and shade draw shapes on her armor as light streamed through the trees above. She turned to see Varric press his hand to the rich, wide belly of a tree, a smile stretching on his face. 

"Beautiful," Cassandra said quietly, and closed her eyes. 

 

 

 

She woke the next morning to the sound of a ram galloping away from camp, well before sunrise. She heard the noise of an arrow, the desperate bleat of the animal before it fell. The sound of Varric's boots crunching through leaves and the slick blood-wet slide of the animal back to camp. She pulled on her jacket and pushed open the flap of the tent to find him setting the crossbow down by the fire, laying his gun with it.

"Morning," he said, not looking up.

"You killed it." Varric nodded. "What will you do with it?"

"Skin it. Cut it. Eat it." He smiled at her. "In that order." Cassandra scrunched her nose and he laughed. "No? Doesn't sound good to you?"

"We have rations."

"Well, if you'd like to eat freeze dried corn and jerky for breakfast again, be my guest." He pushed the box of rations toward her with the toe of his boot. The idea of meat, real _meat_ , made Cassandra's mouth water. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

She sighed, stepping out of the tent and zipping up her jacket. "What can I do?"

When the Inquisitor finally emerged from her tent, bleary eyed and yawning, the two were hunched over the fire, rotating a hunk of meat while a pelt laid out to dry in the sun. 

 

 

 

Varric was telling a story, and Cassandra was listening. Evelyn and Dorian walked behind them, talking in low voices, occasionally interjecting to tell Varric they didn't believe him for a second. Varric was walking backwards, deftly stepping over roots and stones. If he was trying to impress her, Cassandra would have to tell him later that he did, but for now she remained quiet, listening to some story about Hawke, until her eyes caught sight of something she should _not_ have seen. 

Cassandra snapped forward, twisting Varric around and clamping a hand over his mouth. She held her other hand behind her and moved behind a boulder, finally releasing him.

" _Seeker--_ "

"Quiet! Or I will do it again." 

Evelyn peaked around the edge of the rock and gasped, turning and mouthing to Cassandra.

_That's a fucking giant._

"Yes," she whispered. "It is."

 

 

 

Supposedly Corypheus had killed all the giants, but out here in the Emerald Graves, a solitary female wandered, kicking rams out of her way and occasionally bending down to dip out of the river and drink. She was strangely beautiful in her singularity, and Cassandra wondered how long she would last here. 

When they came back to camp, Evelyn sent a message to Skyhold.

_One giant in the graves. No dragon yet. Varric killed something. We ate it._

"Smooth," Varric said, looking over the Inquisitor's shoulder at her screen.

"Cullen will be _very_ jealous." 

Cassandra smiled, stretching and leaning against a tree, looking up between its leaves at the stars.

They'd come looking for a dragon, or at least some proof of a dragon. Corypheus had snatched up the largest of the beasts in Thedas, his army had pillaged entire regions, but had left this one alone. She wondered if they'd really only wandered into another trap, but decided against it. Perhaps, tomorrow, they would find a dragon.

Varric made her a plate of food -- ram and greens from around the camp and a warm cup of coffee.

She smiled. Perhaps.


	3. see you down the line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen thought he might never see Josephine again. War has a funny way of making the world that much smaller.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SHIP IT WITH ME

Cullen did not expect to see her. Not like this. Not the way things were. He had come because Cassandra asked, and didn't ask many questions. The war was on, the world was on fire, and Corypheus was winning. Cullen had left the Templars thinking he knew what he was was doing, but found out pretty damn quick he didn't. So he said yes, when Cassandra asked. Her video message still played in his head, sometimes, when he wondered why he was there.

_We need you. They will listen to you._

So he went.

He did not expect to see her.

He walked into the war room, the massive table flickering with a poorly designed hologram ("We'll get something better later," the Inquisitor had said, and smacked his shoulder jovially.) -- Leliana stood in front of it, adding pieces, taking parts away. Cullen trailed after Cassandra, his hands thrumming with the need to do something, anything. Leliana looked up, gave him a smile. "Hello, Commander."

"Is that my new title?"

"Certainly." She crossed the room and handed him a brick of a tablet. "Welcome to the Inquisition." 

"I suppose I should be grateful."

"We have a war to win, Cullen, and not very much time to do it."

"Of course." He turned to find a place to set down his things, get acquainted with their map, and there she was. 

Maker, she was as beautiful as she had been all those years ago.

"Cullen?" 

"Josephine." _Josephine._

Cassandra frowned. "You know each other?"

"I--" Josephine faltered, at a rare loss for words. Her cheeks went pink and she ducked her head. "Yes. Some time ago. In Kirkwall, very briefly. I was on a diplomatic visit to the Viscount. Knight-Captain Cullen was my guide." She paused. "Former Knight-Captain. I am...pleased to see you here, with us."

Cullen breathed. "Glad to be here," he said.

Behind him, Leliana choked on a laugh.

 

 

 

They worked well together, the three of them. Leliana preferred to work in shadow, Cullen liked the iron fist, and Josephine was perfume. She had visiting diplomats spellbound by her charm and grace, and though Cullen had questioned the validity of her methods, he couldn't question it when coin flowed into their reserves after a successful enchantment of another high-browed whoever in Orlais. 

" _Perfect,_ " Evelyn said. "We need to get someone in here to fix the jet."

"What has happened to the jet?" Josephine asked, looking as though she would prefer not to know.

"Oh, you know. A little gunfight, a giant, some fire. Nothing big, just a paint job." She coughed. "And an engine replacement."

Josephine closed her eyes, made a note, and smiled. "Consider it done, Inquisitor."

"Thanks, Josie. You're a doll." Evelyn dashed forward, kissed her cheek and took off. "Gotta jet! Well, not actually. I have no jet. Gotta ride, there's Reds further south." She grinned and shut the door behind her, leaving the too of them alone. Cullen turned to Josephine, who had settled into a chair and was massaging her temples. 

"Will you be alright?"

"Someday, perhaps." She smiled and looked at him. "How are you holding up? I heard--"

"It's nothing." Cullen shook his head, focused intently on the little spot on the map that was Empris. The Inquisitor had sent Cassandra, Vivienne, and Sera there earlier in the morning to demolish a handful of red lyrium stashes. It came with cutting Corypheus off from more supplies, and calming Varric's nerves. He had been twitchy since recovering from his and Dorian's incident. Cullen sighed. "Thank you for asking," he said quietly.

"Of course." Josephine stood and came to rest her hand on his arm. "You do know that you can tell me if something is...bothering you, yes?" Cullen nodded and Josephine smiled again, pushing herself on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "Please, get some rest."

Long after she had left, Cullen stood in the war room, fingers touching skin that crackled like a live wire.

 

 

 

Back then, when he'd been a Templar, and she'd been a sweet, young diplomat, Cullen had fallen, hard. She had hardly had time for him at the beginning, but there was a night when he'd caught her escaping from her room at the Viscount's home, shimmying down the trellis and leaping expertly onto the ground below. 

"Going somewhere?" he'd called, expecting her to turn and make excuses.

Instead, she turned and grinned, and then beckoned him to follow.

He spent a night with her, playing a terrible game of Wicked Grace in a bar (once she'd convinced him to hide his Templar patch, and wear a rather ugly hat. They ate food from a street vendor and dipped their feet into the water at the docks. Cullen had never seen Kirkwall like this, alive and vibrant and _interesting._ He had trained himself to only see what was wrong -- mages, the Gallows, the crime -- and now, here he was, being wooed by it. 

He wondered, now, if there was a way to do that with her again. He'd nursed a terrible crush, not helped by the chaste, lingering kiss she'd given him when she'd departed. Cullen still felt it, still smelled her perfume, felt her soft, soft hand on his cheek.

She kissed him with her eyes open.

 

 

 

Cullen went into the war room to make some plans in solitude, but there she was, sitting on the edge of the table, toying with the controls, making the map larger, then smaller, larger, then smaller. 

"Josephine?"

She jumped. "Commander!"

He closed the door behind him. "Is...is everything alright?"

"Oh." She fixed the map and stood. "Yes, it's...it's fine."

"Can't sleep?"

Josephine sighed. "No. I cannot. Why are you awake so early?"

He chuckled. "Awake implies I went to sleep at all."

"It's hard to sleep. Something is always happening."

"That happens during a war." Cullen perched himself on the edge of the table, watching her fiddle with the hem of her blouse. She looked beautiful, exhausted, so many things all at once. Cullen reached out for her, drawing her closer. "How do you expect to charm the rest of Thedas out of their coin if you're not getting your rest, Ambassador?"

"I could ask you a similar question."

"I have thousands upon thousands of personal demons, according to Dorian. I am perfectly equipped for insomnia."

"And I have none?" she asked. "I am without struggle, then? Without baggage?"

"I didn't--"

"You do not have a monopoly on suffering, _Commander._ " Her voice rose quickly, and she pulled her hand from his. "Excuse me," she said. "I probably _should_ retire, before I get tricked into thinking I am welcome again." She moved to leave him, but Cullen pushed himself off the table, grabbing her wrist. " _Cullen--_ "

He spun her in, right into his arms, and their lips met. Cullen put a hand on her waist, so small under his hands, and held her flush against him. Josephine made a little noise, gripped his shirt tight, and the relaxed. Her arms settled on his shoulders, folding behind his neck as she kissed him. How soft she was, how she felt under his hands. She pulled back after a moment, looking up at him through her lashes. "Oh," she said quietly.

"Was it alright?"

"Yes."

"May I do it again?"

She smiled. "Yes."


End file.
